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You know, some people call the South an ugly place. Full of nothing but sand and heat as far as the eye can see. Most people never been here.
The desert was damn beautiful, it was. Maybe not in the middle of the day, when the sun beat down on you till you were sure you were going to fall straight out the saddle. But it weren’t all sand. No, there were rocks too. Rocks and scrub and little patches of heaven where grass and mesquite and acacia and hackberry trees grew nearby little springs and streams.
Biggest damn rocks you ever saw, in all different shades of red and yellow and orange, striped with white and black. All carved by the wind with holes and curves and spires. There ain’t no logic to them either, like there is in some other places. Them rocks just jutt up out of the ground any old place, as tall as some of them spires back in Chiaroscuro, making all kinds of hidden canyons and hidey-holes for them as were up to no good to lay low in.
This particular no-good scoundrel had a habit of forcing ladies of negotiable virtue when they weren’t up for negotiating, then mutilating them too. And those were just some of his more attractive qualities. The price on his head of a dozen dinars looked pretty good too - though I would have taken the job for free to rid Creation of scum like Elial “Surgeon” Kinkaid.
So here I am, baking in the sun, casing out this little rock cleft said scum has slithered back to. Dirt is bored and restless; there’s nothing at the moment to eat nor pretty mares to chase, and all I’m doing is sitting here. At least from the horse’s point of view.
The little cleft of valley is a good spot for a bug like Kinkaid to hole up. Big rock spires on three sides, broken by little passageways leading Gods-know-where, and a bitty spring bubbling up out of the biggest rock. Just enough for a man and a horse if they’re careful. There’s a wisp of smoke coming up out of a shabby cabin parked out next to the spring, and a horse hobbled in the yard, so I know the bastard’s at home. And that place has the best sightlines in the valley.
Shit. If I walk straight in there he’s going to see me coming a mile away unless I’m damn lucky. Got to come at this smart, as much as I would rather just guns ablaze. I pull Dirt’s head around and we ride a half-mile or so around one of these big spires, where a long streak of brown volcanic-looking rock is stuck in with the red sandstone. He gets tethered where there’s some browse and I get to climb up the chimney.
There’s a ledge here, just where I can see the little pocket all laid out before me. Birds and little climbing critters have been up here, I see, by the droppings and the scattered bits of debris, but none so big as to bother me. It’s all rusty red-brown, the kind of rough-edged bubbly rock that’ll cut you open if you’re not careful, but my duster’s plenty protection against it. And hey, my coat’s a brownish color, too. I blend in pretty good.
I got a coil of rope and my rifle, both of which I’m going to need. Rope gets tied around a solid looking bit (because it is my luck that I will need a fast way down... I’m not too high up here, at least. Bit more than I really want to jump or fall though). And the rifle gets out and primed.
Medicine Man is an old, old friend. Lawd, I must have found it back when I first starting taking up the law around here. It’s name is Medicine Man because surely it will cure what ails you. Usually at the cost of a large chunk of your bits and a goodly amount of blood, too. And a possible total lack of being alive, as well. So I get Medicine Man set up and aimed more-or-less in the direction of the cabin, waiting for that little shit to take just. One. Step. outside and CRACK.
It’s going to be a long wait. But I’m very patient.
---
Unless. Of course. Someone else comes waltzing in.
For Sol’s sake, how did anyone else *find* this place.
This girl - I’m assuming it’s a girl since she’s all dressed up in those turbans and veils some of the nomads out east wear, and decked out with all sorts of bangly bead jewelry that - I swear unto heaven I am not making this up - chimes. Yes, the gal has bells on.
Who wears bells to a place like this?
Anyway. She marches up as cool as you please to the door of Kincaid’s little cabin and pounds on the door. She knows he’s home just like I do; aside from the smoke out the chimney there’s lantern glow behind the shutters, just barely visible in the slow sunset dim. She’s damn lucky he didn’t get her with a crossbow bolt.
Then again - it’s also pretty clear that under all those veils she’s wearing some decent plate armor. I can see the hard curves of it from here - breastplate, tasset, greaves, and gauntlets at least.
Kinkaid of course don’t open up for her, he ain’t no idiot. She tosses her head in a very commanding gesture and were I a less experienced man that gesture may have scared the piss out of me. Fortunately, I been around. The gal eyes the door and plants her shoulder into it with a crunch and damn if the thing don’t just leap away from her like its piss-scared too. She disappears inside.
There’s a beat. A pause. I hear the gal’s voice raised - she’s got the kind of musical way of talking Flametongue that I hear the eastern nomads using - and Kinkaid’s slimy tones replying. There’s a scuffle, I can see from the shadows from the lamp, and a thud.
Then the entire cabin bursts into flame.
Or, at least, that’s what I thought happened. It takes a few heartbeats for my eyes to adjust to the sudden light.
Light - like a piece of the sun come down to rest - is pouring out of that shack, through bitty cracks in the walls, all the windows, even the holes in the roof. It’s pouring over the little pocket like it’s high noon instead of an hour after sundown, and making stark black shadows from every rock and pebble and bit of debris. As I know Kinkaid ain’t got any more magic than a brick, it must be coming off of her. Either that or he’s hiding a hell of a lot of firedust in there. Shit. She must be one of... them, too.
Kinkaid - as I said - ain’t stupid. I don’t know how he got away from her, but next thing I know he’s a shadow scrambling out from the back of the house. Ah, that there is my cue. She may be down there, but that rat is my bounty and I’m not giving him up. I was here first, after all.
That light sure makes aiming a lot easier. He doesn’t even make it to his horse before I’ve squeezed off a shot and reloaded.
CRACK.
“Aaaauuuih!” cries Kinkaid. His horse, already spooked by the sudden light, has had the last straw with the sound of that gun. It snaps its hobbles with the panicked strength of its fright, and goes plunging off into the night, screaming like a banshee.
What, did you think I’d miss? Man, that rat is going to have a real hard time walking without a knee. Medicine Man goes back into the sling at my back and I make like a jackrabbit and shimmy on down that rope to collect my prey. I’m halfway across the valley when the lady comes out the back of the cabin after him.
“Well, thank you kindly for flushin’ this un outta his hole,” I drawl as her head whips towards me. “I woulda been waitin’ a sight longer if it weren’t for you.” I touch the brim of my hat respectfully, angling to put me between her and Kinkaid.
“This man is a criminal,” she says to me, slowly and carefully, like she ain’t real good at this tongue yet. The veil across her forehead does exactly nothing to hide the brilliant eight-rayed sunburst just above her eyes. I seen that before - in the mirror, sometimes. “I am to bring him to justice.”
“Fancy that, darling. So’m I.” I fish out the much-folded and crumpled and, alright, maybe a little stained, wanted sheet and hold it out in one gloved hand towards her. She can come get it if she likes.
“Y’all are bigger cowards than me!” Kinkaid is hollering behind me. “Bootlickers, kowtowing spineless bastards! Ain’t no Law in the-- Aieeee!”
You know, it’s a shame about that leg of his. He keeps carrying on like that, he’s like to get real damaged. Might lose it, especially if someone keeps stepping on it to shut him up. Ah, it’s just a spur, anyways. Not like I put real weight on it.
The gal snatches the wanted sheet out of my hand like she’s afraid I’ll do something and unfolds it, studying it closely under the light of the Sunsmark on her brow. “Twelve dinars? What is the meaning of this?”
“It means that the local law - what there is of it - will pay real good silver for his worthless hide. An’ I believe they don’t much care if he’s still amongst the livin’ when delivered, darling.” That’s mostly just to scare Kinkaid there, as I don’t know either way. He deserves a little scaring.
That gal’s lovely if scary yellow eyes narrow at me and her dark brows draw together. That’s all I can see as the veils cover the rest of her face. And then I’m looking at the sky, since she’s blurred forward and hooked a foot behind mine and shoved me over onto my arse. My own damn fault for paying more attention to pretty eyes than anything else. At least Kinkaid broke my fall. It’d do the fellow a lot of good if he just passed out about now, rather than sobbing.
“Do not,” she says, very clearly, standing over the both of us. “Call me ‘darling’. Ever again. If you value your life.”
Now, I’ve heard a lot of big animals growl at me in my life. Dogs, jackals, wildcats, housecats, hell, even a bird. Did you know ravens and austrechs can growl? I didn’t either, till I met one and pissed it off. But the growl that bubbles up to my right is the biggest, meanest, growl I have ever heard in my life. It echoes round the whole pocket, bouncing off the rocks to land directly on my chest.
Eyes loom out of the darkness of the cleft and stalking into the gal’s light is the biggest godsdamned lion I have ever seen. Kinkaid chooses this moment to faint, which is I think the best idea he’s ever had in his misbegotten life and were I a lesser man I might be tempted to do the same. The cat is bigger than my poor horse and its canines are nearly as long as my arm, jutting out of its jaw. It looms over me, sniffs, and lifts its head to the gal, who for some reason I cannot fathom, is not perturbed by this.
“Ever.”
“Yes, ma’am. Never again.”
The lady takes a step back and waves at the lion to do the same, but makes no move to help me up. That’s just fine. I am perfectly happy to get off of Kinkaid as fast as I can. I dust off my coat a bit, adjust my hat. “Ah, so, maybe we got off on the wrong foot. Lemme start over.”
I bow a bit, tip my hat, never taking my eyes off her face. I know the little mental twitch that’ll make that mark on my head glitter and I do it, just to see her reaction. Ah, it’s such a pleasure to see those lion-yellow eyes go wide in surprise. Our own little secret sign. “I’m Caleb Raith. Sometimes lawman, sometimes bounty hunter, sometimes both round here. And what may I call you, ma’am?”
“You may name me Fiera Kulasani. A Sword of Heaven.” The light of her dimmed slowly, until she cast no more than a dying campfire. “This is Luksa.”
That saber toothed lion padded around behind me suspiciously, but thrust its - her?- muzzle under Fiera’s hand like any spoiled temple cat demanding a scratch. I’m not really much for cats, more of a dog man, but I can see how the two of them might get along.
“It’s mighty fine to meet you, Miz Fiera. I don’t suppose you’d like to accompany me and this sack of filth masquerading as a man being back ta town, would you?” I pick up Kinkaid and sling him over my shoulder. He’s going to get blood all over my duster.
“I think... I would like that. I have not met another... Lawgiver... We shall speak.”
“Yes ma’am.”